Chapter 8: Ashirai's Blade
"The emperor wants to see me?"
Ha. Wonders would never end.
"Can I at least go change?" I asked. "I'm not fit to stand in the emperor's presence like this."
One of the guards didn't even blink. "Don't worry about that. Grab your working gear and come with us."
So that was that.
****
I'd lived in Ilana for three years and never once seen a river.
Then they led me across a bridge and there it was—cutting through the city from west to east, wide and fast, like it had no reason to fear anyone.
In the center of it all stood the palace.
From afar, I'd thought it was old and dark grey.
Up close, it was limestone, pale and expensive, rising behind high walls and higher roofs. Four bridges connected the palace to the city like the emperor had built his own island and dared the world to visit.
He must've been swimming in gold to build something like that.
"What did you say the emperor wants with me again?" I asked, staring like a fool.
"You'll find out soon enough," one of the guards replied. "Come."
We crossed the north bridge. Servants took our horses at the stables without meeting my eyes, quick and practiced, like they'd learned early not to look too closely at anything that moved.
Then they led me into the throne room.
Marble everywhere. A carpet so long and blue it looked like someone had dragged the sky across the floor just to impress strangers.
My feet felt heavy. My mouth went dry. For a moment, I remembered what it felt like to be ten years old again—small, helpless, and surrounded by people who could decide my life with a word.
In the room were seven people, not counting us.
The emperor and empress sat on their thrones.
Rowanda stood below the steps beside a short girl I hadn't seen before.
Two armed guards stood near the thrones, and another stood with Rowanda and the girl, hands folded like nothing could surprise him.
"Your majesty," one of the guards said, dropping to his knees. "We've brought you the blacksmith."
I looked behind me.
All four guards were kneeling.
Sweat prickled my back.
"Why are you all kneeling?" I whispered to the guard beside me.
"You kneel and bow your head in the presence of an emperor," he whispered back, like he couldn't believe I didn't know.
I dropped down fast and bowed.
"Rise," the emperor ordered.
We stood.
The emperor leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Rowanda. Is this the blacksmith who forged your sword?"
"Yes, brother," Rowanda said, sounding bored. "That's him. I found him in my biggest quest."
"Three years ago?" the emperor repeated. "How did this scrawny boy forge a sword with meteorite steel while my own armourer can't even melt it?"
I heard myself answering before my sense caught up.
"You don't need to melt to forge," I said. "Just heat it and—"
Silence.
Every eye turned toward me.
"Oh," I said, too late. "Sorry. Uh… your lordiness."
The emperor stared.
"Your lordiness?" he echoed, as if tasting something rotten. Then he looked at Rowanda. "Are you sure this is him?"
"Yes," Rowanda snapped. "Give the boy a hammer and metal and let him do his thing."
I edged closer to the guard beside me and whispered, "How should I address the emperor? What's his title?"
"Your majesty," the guard hissed back. "And do not speak unless spoken to."
I swallowed.
Then the short girl spoke.
"Aunty," she asked Rowanda, "is this boy going to make me a sword as good as yours?"
I finally got a good look at her.
Dark brown curls. Olive skin. Grey eyes. A tiny nose. Simple clothes, like she'd come from riding a horse or running through the city.
My jaw dropped before I could stop it.
Rowanda looked at her as if she'd asked the weather.
"How many times do I have to say yes?" Rowanda turned to me. "Leno. This is my niece, Ashirai. You're going to make her a sword just like mine. Her fifteenth birthday is in a month."
I stared at Ashirai like she was the only person in the room who wasn't made of stone.
"I think I should take her arm measurements," I said quickly. "A sword should fit the hand. She might not like the balance."
Rowanda's eyes narrowed. "I said you're going to make—"
"No, aunty," Ashirai interrupted, sharp and fearless. "He's right. Your sword is too heavy for me."
For a heartbeat, the throne room felt less like a cage.
More like a place where someone could argue and live.
****
"Alright," I said later, stretching Ashirai's left arm gently. "Thirty-one and a half inches long. One and a third wide. That's the right fit."
She was left-handed, like Rowanda.
Now that was unfortunate.
"Which metal did you want again?" I asked.
"Meteorite," Ashirai said, eyes bright. "My teacher told me meteorite steel is the best metal in the world."
The palace armoury was… dull.
Mostly stainless steel and common ore. A few magnetic stones. Nothing that made my fingers itch.
Better than Brandon's armoury, sure.
But not royal, not truly.
"That depends on who's forging it," I said as I lit the forge. "And how. Pure meteorite can be brittle."
Grogan's notes never warned me about that.
I learned the hard way.
A palace armourer entered with two servants pushing wheelbarrows.
Meteor rocks.
They dumped them in front of me without a word and left like they were afraid of the stones.
Ashirai sat at my table like she belonged there, legs swinging.
"How long will this take?" she asked.
I glanced at her. "You want the truth, or the short answer?"
"The short answer."
"Two weeks," I said.
She blinked. "That's it?"
"I said two weeks, not two hours," I muttered, picking up a rock.
"Isn't this supposed to be a surprise?" I added.
Ashirai smiled like surprises were for other people.
She kept me company for a couple of hours before leaving. I worked until past midnight. When my eyes finally gave up, I slept on the chair like a dead man.
I woke up falling off it.
Laughter.
Ashirai stood there laughing like she'd been waiting to laugh.
"Hey!" I snapped, rubbing my elbow. "I've been banging steel all night. Can't I get some rest?"
"I've been waiting for you to wake up for two hours," she said, grinning. "It's almost midday."
She looked at the rectangular blocks on the table. "Wow. You're making me two swords?"
"Uhhh…" I grabbed the bigger block and tried to hide it behind my back. "Actually, that one's mine."
She lifted the other block, eyebrows rising. "So you don't have your own meteorite sword?"
"No," I said quickly. "Meteorite is rare. And expensive. And troublesome. And—"
"Let me see the one you're hiding."
"No can do."
"I'll tell my aunt you're making yourself a sword."
I stared at her.
Then sighed like a man much older than fourteen.
"Fine," I muttered, handing it over.
She tossed it up and caught it like it weighed nothing.
"They're too heavy," she said. "You said you'd make them lighter."
"And I will," I said, splashing my face with water. "It's only been one night, princess."
"Princess?" she repeated, amused.
I regretted it instantly.
She let me work.
And then she didn't.
She brought food and refreshments almost every hour. Like she thought I'd die if I didn't eat.
Maybe she wasn't wrong.
****
Three weeks later, I was almost done.
Ashirai came in that afternoon while I worked on the hilts.
"Wow," she whispered, staring at her blade like it was a living thing. "It's almost done."
"My father is starting to have doubts," she added. "You're taking a lot of time."
"I'll be done by this evening," I said. "Worry not, princess."
She picked up my blade from the table without asking.
"Let me see yours," she said. "I want to know which one is better."
Sunlight hit it, and the metal lit up black and silver. The pattern ran in wavy lines, all angling northeast and northwest from the center like a leaf vein.
If it wasn't so long and thin, it would've looked exactly like a leaf.
"Wow," she breathed. "It's lighter than mine. It's as light as a leaf. But it's bigger… how?"
"Meteorite and carbon steel together," I said, smiling like an innocent liar. "The strongest blade is a blend. Soft and hard. Pure and impure. Balance."
She narrowed her eyes at me.
I'd gotten used to people doubting me.
But Ashirai doubted me like she was curious, not cruel.
"What else?" she demanded. "Tell me everything or I'll go tell my aunt."
"Alright, alright," I muttered. "Full moon last night. I tried some… spells."
Her eyes widened. "You can do magic? Show me. Make me fly."
"Keep it down," I hissed. "No, I can't do magic. It's just… words. Things I was taught as a child."
A lie.
Truth was, I'd learned every trick in Grogan's book.
Even the ones that felt wrong to read out loud.
And when spies started circling, I burned the book.
But it was already inside my head by then. Every line. Every language.
Ashirai ran her fingers along the flat of the blade, careful not to touch the edge.
"What does it do?" she asked softly.
"For now?" I said. "It's lighter than it should be, and stronger than Blackweight ore."
"What's Blackweight?"
"Tungsten," I corrected automatically, then sighed. "The strongest metal most people ever touch."
I took her blade and began honing it on the whetstone.
"And my sword," I continued, quieter, "is supposed to come back when I reach for it. I don't know if it'll work yet. And… in a real battle, it should turn red. Cloak itself in flame."
Ashirai looked at me like I'd just told her the sky was made of glass.
"And mine?" she asked carefully. "Did you do magic on mine too?"
I snorted. "No. I like my head where it is."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"Promise me," she said, "that if yours doesn't break, you'll put spells on mine too."
"I'd have to forge it again from scratch," I said.
"I didn't ask how hard it is," she shot back.
I smiled despite myself.
"Fine," I said. "I promise."
That evening I sharpened both swords until they could shave hair off air.
Ashirai's sword had a platinum cross-guard. Mahogany hilt, one-handed grip. Platinum pommel.
Mine had a titanium cross-guard that caught light in red, yellow, and orange—like the plant my grandfather loved, Canna indica.
So I shaped the pommel like a Canna leaf.
And I named the sword Canna.
The emperor loved his daughter's blade so much he opened Brandon's armoury as a proper workshop. We started selling weapons to the city instead of forging only for Rowanda's men.
From that day onward, Ashirai became my first friend in Ilana.
Brandon didn't count.
Ashirai sneaked out of the palace almost every day just to see me. Sometimes we practiced sword fighting, and I always let her win.
Just to see her smile.
The secret entrance under my stairs had been her idea.
****
Back to the present.
After Ashirai left, I took a quick bath and got dressed for work.
In the mirror, I looked… different.
Older.
My brown eyes had turned hazel. My skin had lightened a shade. I wasn't bulky. Just lean. Wire and bone, like something built for moving.
When I brushed my teeth, I noticed my fangs looked a little longer.
That part bothered me.
I dressed fast and went down to the forge before my thoughts could get worse.
Sure enough, Rowanda came before sunset and told me to pack a small bag and a huge amount of aluminium for the trip.
The next part of the night—what came after—wasn't a story I wanted to tell.
Not like that.
But there was something I could tell.
Something softer.
Something that still hurt.
Because before the morning came, I saw Ashirai one last time.
****
I didn't go looking for her.
That would've been stupid.
But Ashirai had always been better at finding me than I was at hiding.
A soft knock came at the back door.
One knock.
Then two.
Our signal.
I opened it, and there she was, hood up, cheeks pink from cold, eyes too bright.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she stepped inside like she belonged, because in my house, she did.
"I heard," she said quietly.
"Of course you did," I replied.
Her gaze dropped to the bag on the table.
Then to the aluminium sack by the stairs.
"Riverway," she whispered.
"First light," I said.
She swallowed.
"I shouldn't be here," she said, like she was trying to convince herself.
"Then don't be," I said, too sharp.
Ashirai flinched.
I regretted it immediately.
I exhaled and softened my voice. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"
"I know," she interrupted. "You always mean less than what you say when you're afraid."
I stared at her.
That was the problem with her.
She watched too closely.
Ashirai stepped closer, hands twisting at the edge of her cloak.
"Don't die," she said.
It was simple.
No poetry.
No princess pride.
Just a girl who'd made a secret door under my stairs because she couldn't stand the idea of never seeing me again.
"I'm hard to kill," I tried to joke.
She didn't smile.
"I'm serious, Leno."
I nodded, because anything else would've been a lie.
Ashirai reached up and adjusted the collar of my cloak with careful fingers, like she was trying to fix the world by fixing one small thing.
Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to my chest.
Just for a breath.
Warmth through cloth.
A promise without words.
My hands hovered, unsure where to go, like I was still a slave and she was still the emperor's blood and the world was still watching even in an empty room.
Then I placed one hand lightly on her shoulder.
And she didn't pull away.
"I'll come back," I said quietly.
Ashirai lifted her head. Her eyes were wet, but her voice didn't crack.
"If you don't," she whispered, "I'll come find you and drag you back myself."
There it was.
Her stubbornness.
Her threat disguised as love.
I finally smiled.
"Deal," I said.
Ashirai stepped back, pulled her hood up again, and headed for the secret door under the stairs.
Before she disappeared, she turned once.
"Leno?"
"Yeah?"
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something big.
Something dangerous.
Instead, she only said, "Pack warmer socks."
Then she was gone.
And the room felt empty in a way no forge could fix.